


Prince of Darkness

by jbae654



Category: Dragonball, Dragonball Z
Genre: AU, F/M, Tattoos, Vegeta is a lawyer, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 12:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbae654/pseuds/jbae654
Summary: Spin-off from a one-shot that got lots of requests for a sequel.Everything added on will be one-shot-style, not in chronological order.Vegeta is a Lawyer trying to make his own path in life. Bulma is a young aspiring scientist.One day hidden secrets bubble to the surface and the consequences change their lifes.





	1. Prince of Darkness

She should have known that someday she was going to end up here. Was a smart woman, pretty too, but with Vegeta, she had fallen hard - and despite everything, she didn't mind. She knew she should. But Bulma couldn't force herself to do as she knew society dictated her to do.

They'd met at a bar. Uncomplicated. Like normal, average, people. She just on the verge of her first big scientific breakthrough, him a few years into running his own practice. It had been like a lightning strike, a force of nature, unstoppable, electrifying- and for any observer with half a brain - terrifying.

The sex that night had been amazing - still was - and everything after that flowed so effortlessly. He was an amazing lawyer, a driven man that understood how to wield power. In some twisted turn of fate, they'd gotten a little tipsy at a local upscale club, celebrating one of his victories, had danced and grinded - well she had - on another shamelessly in a sweaty version of Tango.

And someone had filmed. Had put it online. Had made them famous.

It had been surreal, great for their carriers. Clients flocking to him, and people fighting over funding her research and projects. It had been exhilarating. And then the suspicion and accusations had started.

After all, Vegeta was the son of a yakuza. Not just any. The son of the boss, a man so high up the food chain he had avoided prison and an investigation entirely after being accused of murdering his wife - Vegeta's mother - in cold blood.

She'd know of course. He had mentioned it. She'd heard Raditz talk about it. Seen their tattoos. Had accepted that part of him without ever blinking an eye. She loved this man, in all his protective, borderline possessive, love of her he worshipped her. Maybe never directly in public, but she relished the knowledge of being the only one that got to see this side of him.

They'd been together for years - traveled the globe- engaged for many more summers -enough to really get the press talking - and then gotten married in the most private and traditional of all ceremonies during cherry blossom season.

She'd known that his father wasn't very fond of her. Wasn't very fond of the way Vegeta had left and pursued a career in law. Was irritated by the way his son only slowly, unwillingly took the rains, fully capable of violence and carnage, but not fully enthusiastic about it either.

She'd known the moment she had opened the door and seen the officers that push had come to shove. That the repressed hate for the crime against his mother and the darkness of his childhood had boiled over. Had known that she was now married to the most powerful man of the underworld. From Prince of darkness to its King. But she loved this man, loved the way his voice sounded when he laughed and his eyes closed in bliss when he came.

She'd been at court. Very first row. Had been as surprised as the blinding sea of cameras as he had leaned over the small banister, orange jumpsuit and clinging chains, and kissed her. Deep and passionate, like a man that had just spend weeks in solitary, right in front of the public eye, for the first time. Ever.

Now, 8 weeks after opening her front door, she stood in a small room, with a single bed, wondering just how in the hell he had managed this. Deep down knowing that somehow she had always known she'd end up here all along. They weren't their youngest anymore, this was a complete surprise, but she knew she had to tell him.

When they finally ushered him in everything became a whirlwind of movement and before she knew what was happening Vegeta had her against the wall. Legs wrapped around his waist, still covered in orange that was too bright, fingers working on her blouse, lips sucking greedily at her neck.

She had to tell him.

Small hands grasp his face, forced him to still. Her breath as hard and panting as his own. It's a whisper against his lips when she tells him. Isn't sure herself why she doesn't say it louder, perhaps she's afraid she'll be alone with this. Maybe he won't be excited. Won't want it. Maybe it's too late in their life's. Maybe it's the wrong time.

His eyes a dark and unreadable, sometimes she glimpses the monster they all say he is. But then his eyes close and he's softly rubbing his nose against hers. A hand so much larger than her own on her still flat stomach. The kisses and rhythm that follows are much gentler than the frantic ripping from a few minutes ago.

She knows he'll be home. Knows it'll likely not be legal, will cost violence and blood. But in this moment, when he's all but melting into her she can't seem to care. She knows it's selfish.

Even months later, she can't feel guilty. The way he is laying next to her, bare chest and dark, muscled skin, their son sleeping on his chest, blanketed in the large strong hand of his father, she knows she'd justify anything for them. She'd become a monster herself if need be. Because it's like magnetism, and what they have created together is like electricity , unstoppable and yes, maybe even a little terrifying.

* * *

_to be continued.._


	2. Beginnings

The mood is high and the air in the nightclub is thick. Vegeta has won his biggest trial yet - a huge corporate case that will put his firm on the map once and for all.

The alcohol from her too-full glass runs over her fingertips, it's a fancy upscale club with an even fancier name. Fire - in some exotic language. Like the dress she is wearing that fits like a second skin and makes the sweat pool down her spine.

Everyone is here. Everyone is elated. Even Vegeta seems to be in an openly good mood. He's still wearing his suit, jacket and tie discarded, and as she is making her way back from the bar she can't help but swoon over how hot her boyfriend is.

Sex on legs. All forbidden darkness. Especially when he's smiling like this. It's a smile fueled by bourbon but it makes her panties damp nonetheless. She's a little buzzed herself when she finally makes it over, squeezing his strong bicep and telling him how proud she is of him. Always knew he could do it.

Before he can answer her song comes on, it's some hip remix with tango elements and she's on the dance floor tempting the devil in disguise to dance with her. Fingers curling in a come-hither motion and a grin so dirty anyone can guess what will likely happen in the too-small bathroom stalls later in the night.

To her surprise Vegeta is drunk enough and high on his win in court, joining her on the dance floor. Whisking the reigns of control straight out of her small hands.

The next thing she knows is that he is spinning her across the dance floor, dragging her along his body and dipping her low - on beat! She's known he had training when growing up, but this is the first time she's encountering his hidden talent.

Strong hands are gliding over her tight dress and exposed skin like the lover he is and the fact that they have the dance floor to themselves while the crowd is cheering and whistling faintly reminds her of the provocative and sex-charged show they are putting on.

She doesn't care. Let them watch. She loves this man, who usually is so uptight in public, so the fact that she is shamelessly grinding her crotch against his thigh between her legs is Christmas to her extroverted personality. When he spins her again and her behind presses into his hardening member Bulma knows where she'll drag him when this song is over.

They are both sweaty, bowing to the hollering crowd in mock curtsies before disappearing together. Working out the sudden tension in a place just a tiny bit more private. She's so high on life that she moans wantonly throughout anyway, his hand over her mouth be damned.

It's only a few hours later when the phone buzzes on the nightstand mocking their disheveled appearances and heavy heads. It's Raditz. He's sending them a video pushing and urging Vegeta to open the message, who doesn't even lift his face out of the pillow to grunt into the phone, and get back to him after watching it.

When they both force bleary eyes to open long enough to focus their blood freezes. It's them. On the dance floor. All but having sex.

Next to her Vegeta goes very still and very quiet. She knows why. Knows that now it's only a matter of time before the tattoos winding up his torso will come to haunt them. The very ink she so often uses as a treasure map to his most private places. Tracing precise lines with soft fingers and nipping kisses.

Their late night escapades have dragged the elusive Prince of Darkness into the light.

* * *

 

_to be continued ..._


	3. Dance with the Devil

She knew who he was. Knew what he could be. Always had. Had never been a secret between them. But now that it has actually happened for the first time she feels torn in a way she had not anticipated.

There are no visible signs on him. He’s not stupid. Wouldn’t bring that home. Wouldn’t expose her to that world more than he had to. Wouldn’t make her an accomplice more than she already was.

She knows though. Knows because when he comes home he’s freshly showered. Clothes are new and crisp too. Can only imagine what the old ones must have looked like before he discarded them. But despite knowing she’s not repulsed. Not scared. Can’t figure out if the twisting feeling in her gut is because she knows society dictates she feels these things or because she genuinely doesn’t. Maybe something is wrong with her. Maybe something is wrong with society.

He’s the same man that left their home this morning. The same man she met at that club all those years ago. Doesn’t matter that he has switched sides of the law. Knows it should though. Should really matter, everyone tells her so. She knows so. Is a smart woman after all.

Wonders if she’s always been like this, or maybe it’s love. Changes everything, how we feel and think. Our whole life. Maybe she’s a bad person. Only knows she isn’t, would never willingly hurt someone. Maybe he is a bad person. Does bad things for sure. Rules the underworld. But deep down she knows he’s not a bad person. Not a bad man. Not to her at least. Never to her.

Maybe that’s the twisted thing about this world. Good people born to do bad things, born into bad situations, born to play the monster. Perhaps that’s part of what makes the world go round, good people in bad circumstances. Circumstance they can’t leave.

He’s sitting across from her. Submerged in the warm, bubbling water. Head in his neck with a tilt to the side, watching her with those dark eyes. So dark and never-ending, like they all say his reign is. She doesn’t care about any of that. Cares about the smirk tugging at his lips as he reaches out to pull her closer. Being close to him is like being home. There’s no darkness here between them, no violence, no terror. Just home. On their rooftop penthouse looking over all that literally and figuratively lies at their feet.

In the end, doesn’t matter what any of them say. Doesn’t matter if she’s a bad person, a broken person, because she discards everything society has taught her. Even if he is the devil, the way her skin burns when he touches her and the way his lips feel of her neck, she’ll gladly dance this dance with him for as long as she can.


	4. High Heels & Dollar Bills

* * *

 

When she climbed the few steps in front of the exclusive building the bouncer almost tripped over his own feet to open the door for her. Inside the crowd of patrons and security parted for her like the Red Sea. She was the only lady in this establishment covered up to her neck in an expensive skin-tight turtleneck dress that left her arms bare. The red soles of her sky-high heels spoke volumes of the kind of woman she was, the kind of power she wielded.

Over the years Bulma had come to enjoy these moments. When her presence alone was enough to part a crowd in silent awe. Her head was held high, her back straight, hips swaying with each sure step. This was by far the most exclusive establishment of its kind, entrance only by membership, cover higher than a month rent in an upscale neighborhood on the other side of town, the girls twirling around the metal poles all models in their own right.

She was early, and the bartender had already sent a scantily clad waitress to the VIP area with her favorite drink on a tablet. Before Bulma even had the time to cross her legs she noticed Raditz moving into position at the entrance of the special seating area. Sipping on her cold drink, barely suppressing an eye roll she surveyed the club - it was packed for a Thursday night. Business was going well.

Glancing at Raditz from the corner of her eye she found a pair of dark eyes surveying her and the club in intervals. Everyone seemed to be on their game tonight, it had taken no time for him to be notified of her arrival. Nobody would bother her, over the years he had become a good friend, yet when it came to moments like these he always reverted to absolute professionalism. No matter how drunk nobody would be stupid enough to even approach him, exuding a vibe that all but said 'I'll kill you in the ally out back and sleep well tonight'.

Bulma had learned to see Vegeta's often possessive need to protect her for what it was, a side effect brought on by living a life submerged in the violence of crime and the constant threat of safety, Raditz watching her like a hawk was one of those manifestations. It didn't matter that this was the most exclusive club he owned, and hence one of the safest, didn't matter if she wore designer heels or old sweatpants, if she wasn't with him, she had a shadow.

The music drummed and Bulma found herself appreciating the long and graceful limbs of the dancers as they twisted and twirled. There was something to be said about the female body and it's beauty, no matter if it was being used and exploited to launder money or make a quick buck. In this case both.

Bulma sipped her drink. She had earned a doctoral degree and was now sitting in one of the most swanky strip clubs in town, owned by her mob husband no less, dressed in an outfit that had cost more than most people's yearly grocery bill. With designer fabric clinging to her like a second skin, the eyes of every guest flicking to her periodically -either in reverence of who she was, or trying to decipher why she was treated like a queen- she did not particularly feel like the once awkward gifted girl.

A movement to her left caught her eye, starting her out of her thoughts, and looking past Raditz she could see Vegeta. His dark tailored suit in stark contrast with his white button up shirt underneath, a flirtatious and eager young dancer immediately hanging on his arm in a feeble attempt to win his attention, if not affection, to rescue her from the life she lived.

Vegeta's eyes found her, paying little attention to the obviously new girl that had not fully gotten the rules yet. He was not that kind of boss, not interested in sampling what he employed. His dark gaze bore into her blue eyes quirking an amused eyebrow as she raised her glass to the young dancer that had finally followed Vegetas line of sight. Bulma's face remained stoic, her eyes piercing, underlining the thinly veiled threat underneath the gesture of raising her glass in cheer.

Rising from the expensive leather she past Raditz, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder in passing, before linking her arm through her husbands and handing the by now empty glass to the furiously blushing and embarrassed girl. 

She might have earned a doctoral degree and secured millions for her research, might have started out in life on a path so much different than this one, might not fully agree to the drastic lifestyle change that had occurred, but, her husband was still the Prince of Darkness and every now and then it was good to remind the peasants of who was his Queen.

* * *

 


	5. Into the fold

There is a stack of money on the kitchen counter. _A stack._ Clean crisp bills neatly held together by two separate money clips. Underneath, on a small note, she can spot his handwriting, instructing her to buy something nice for herself.

He is already at work. Wherever that may truly be. They haven't been together long. A few short months, but she knew the first night he took her home and stripped naked that his law-practice was not what was paying the bills around here. Not primarily at least. His body was decorated in bright colors and alluring darks forever to be held under his skin, delivered there undoubtedly by an Horishi skilled in the ancient art of Irezumi. Painful, time-consuming and  _expensive_.

She picks one stack up nonetheless, running the smooth edge of the Zeni bills between her fingers, Bulma finds herself examing his living room in contemplation. She's seen it before. But now with a bundle of roughly five thousand Zeni in her hands, and another on the counter, she wonders who this man really is. What she is holding is undoubtedly clean, laundered, ready for her to spend. If she does just that she accepts his invitation into this world where darkness dances with the light, gracing the legal with the illegal.

She's worked hard in her life to be where she is, on the edge of her first big breakthrough. Her father's company is finally starting to take off too. The fruits of her hard and honest labor are about ready to be reaped. Vegeta is a lawyer, not an easy feat to accomplish, and she knows he is hard working, but now the dark edges that have carried him there so effortlessly are starting to become visible to her. No matter how honorable he is at the core, he is destined to rule a world of violence and the forbidden, the illegal.

Is she willing to tangle with that? Bulma knows there are other hard-working, good-looking wealthy guys out there. Ones which are not entangled with the Yakuza. But as her brain is forming these thoughts she knows deep down she'll dismiss them. Vegeta isn't just any guy, can't be replaced like that because he respects her.

In a way, that no man has before.

He doesn't consider her smart for a woman, he considers her smart. Genuinely listens to her random tangents in mechanical engineering jargon because he grasps the degree to which the topic sets her soul on fire and makes her happy. He checks in on her, in a way that is bordering the possessive but endearing, because no guy before has truly cared enough to call her when she didn't check in after the estimated time it took her to get home -on the absolute odd rare occasion he doesn't take her home himself. And nobody had ever made her fall apart in bed like he did. She had heard of that kind of sex before, had chalked it off as pompous overly glorified stories, till Vegeta had literally ripped off her underwear and fucked her with so much primal force that she thought she had died and gone to heaven.

If she spends the money, if she's still here when he comes back, she knows there is no going back. Her stomach clenches as alarm bells are going off in her head, this is everything everyone had ever warned her about. By all logic afforded to her by the people that have raised her, society that has shaped her, and her own brilliant mind she knows that this has the words "stay clear" all over it.

It's the same picture she's seen before. Vegeta, his expression relaxed, holding a young boy, maybe around the age of six. They both look similar, unruly dark hair and eyes, skin like gods. It's his half-brother she knows that much even though she has never met the young boy, a child his father had with a different woman than Vegeta's mother, evidently much later in life. She's seen the picture before, but today its the first time she is truly  _looking at_  it.

The young child's eyes sparkle with adoration as they are fixed on the man that is currently giving her heart and mind such a rough time. Vegetas face is almost impassive, the crease between his brows relaxed and his eyes hold a warmth that is usually reserved for her. Moving closer she examines the background, it's out of focus and a little blurry, they are standing outside, the frame cutting Vegeta off at the waist, but it's what she spots behind him that makes her pause. It's a patio door, and in its glass reflection she can make out a wheelchair that is standing just outside the field of view of the camera.

Her heart clenches and her fingers curl tighter around the money she is still holding. This man is not a monster. All the horrible circumstances he is wrapped up in aside, her mind has to concede what her heart has known all along, she will spend this money, and she will be here when he comes home because whats between them is too strong and special to be influenced by the opinion of outsiders.


	6. Through the looking glass

* * *

 

She still has months to go and money has grown tight over the past few weeks. After Vegeta's arrest, they have frozen his accounts precious Zeni hanging in limbo, untouchable by her. The combination of his safe requires a fingerprint and being 19 weeks pregnant Bulma is running out of money. The scandal and his arrest caused an all-time low in money for funding an research, and her income has gone down in size considerably. Even their joined accounts are on ice. For a long time, she has tried to play it cool, promised herself that she could do this, battled morning sickness and the first hormone changes by herself. Holding onto Vegetas promise that he would be home.

But it's not that easy. In order for him to get out charges need to be dropped, evidence needs to disappear and witnesses need to be silenced.

Her stomach twists at the thought, she knows what that means, but she can't stomp down the excitement and need she feels at the idea of him being here with her. Being home and watching their baby grow under her heart. That's another thing, her prime years of childbearing are behind her, she's much older now. Requiring different care to ensure this baby grows to be healthy. Different care that is _expensive._

When she steps outside the apartment Raditz is already waiting for her in his SUV. He's been a real trooper lately, driving her to and from appointments and making sure she has everything she needs. Bulma knows Vegeta will appreciate the extra mile his oldest friend is going for her. The ride to the doctor's office is smooth, Raditz chatters to her about meaningless stuff to fill the silence and she is so distracted that she only notices where he has taken her once they stop.

It's a Bank. A fancy one.

The long-haired man hands her a key and tells her to go inside and open the safety deposit box that is waiting for her. It hangs unspoken between them that her husband had entrusted him with this key a long time ago, long before the arrest, long before this baby. His foresight always amazes Bulma, he was a strategist like no other. Probably what had made him such a _damn good lawyer._

The inside of the vault is humongous and as the overly friendly employee leaves her some privacy the blue-head realizes with dismay that she does not have an inkling which box is hers. Turning the key in her hands she finds no engravings. She is absolutely _clueless_. There are exactly 1000 boxes, some bigger than others, she can't possibly try to open them all till she finds hers. Frustration is bubbling in the pit of her stomach, damn Raditz and Vegeta for not including her in this! For not giving her even the slightest hint on how to proceed from here. Heat is pooling in her neck, she needs to hurry or she will miss her appointment at the office too!

As her annoyance skyrockets her brilliant mind kicks into gear and with large strides, she comes to stand in front of box 901. It's a simple hunch, based on a silly joke her and Vegeta share. If worked annoyed him and things didn't go smoothly he always said that his level of frustration was over 900. The hand holding the key shakes slightly as she lifts it to the lock, her heart hammering in her chest, but the key glides into its lock like butter dissolving all her doubts.

The safety deposit box is big and heavy, one of the biggest ones available, and as she flips it open her breath catches in her throat. _It's filled to the brim with money_. Neat stacks of one- hundred Zeni bills bundled in heaps. Curse her hormones because she can't help the tears that fill her eyes and run down her cheeks. Even when being confined in solitary with no access to outside information this man find a way to care for her. Opening her purse she shoves a few bundles into it before hurrying back to Raditz and the waiting car.

As she leaves the doctors office she is crying again, overwhelmed with the news and the despair that comes with not being able to share this with her husband immediately. Not properly.

To her great surprise for the second time that day Raditz does not drive her home, he drives her to the penitentiary, and for a foolish moment, she thinks that maybe he's out. That they are here to pick him up. But the look on Raditz face tells her differently. She tries not to cry again, having just composed herself. This is a damn good deal and she knows it, getting to see him once a month through a glass window. The conjugal was a one-time thing, especially with whatever is currently in the works to get him out. So Bulma puts her best smile on as she sinks into the cheap plastic chair on her side of the thick glass across from him.

Despite being confined to a small cell for most of his day her husband looks fit. Undoubtedly doing push-ups and sit-ups for most of his waking hours, staying fit and ready. He's a little paler than usual, but his skin hasn't lost his glow yet. She really hopes whatever strings are being pulled to get him out are taking fruit soon. She misses him. _Terribly so._ The continued isolation no doubt wearing on him too, not that he would ever admit it.

The news she got at the doctor's office is eating her alive so without waiting for him to even pick up the clunky plastic phone she presses her ultrasound against the glass, for a moment it looks like he is reaching out for it before he catches himself. Vegeta leans closer, examining the image, trying to decipher what he is looking at. Bulma cant blame him, it even took the doctors a few moments to figure it out.

"It's a boy" she informs him.

The way his eyes light up and he leans even closer to the image has her stomach twisting. To the outside, his reaction is well concealed but she can practically feel the excitement radiating from him, and when Vegeta's dark eyes find her she can see a hint of smugness in them.

* * *

 


	7. Long nights & Cab rides

_**I'm sorry for the long time with no update - things have been stressful. I hope this makes up for it, at least a little ;)** _

 

* * *

 

  
The hand resting on her knee was much bigger than her own. The interior of the cab smelled of foreign spices and the telltale signs of the previous party -goers that had occupied this ride before them. She had never done what she was about to do - go home with a stranger she had just met.

Her skin prickled with excitement and nervousness as Vegeta gently squeezed her knee, and she redirected her gaze to find eyes as dark as the night studying her intently. The had spent the past few hours in deep conversation, forgetting their surroundings as if a spell had been cast on them, and when he had leaned in and finally kissed her, whispering against her lips to come home with him tonight, she found herself agreeing without a moment's hesitation. The ride to his apartment seemed never-ending, his hand gliding up her leg in the same fashion as the cab glided through the night streets. Closer and closer to the destination they were both yearning for.

The air between them hummed with electricity and barely contained the excitement as they made their way into Vegetas bedroom. Unlike all the movies she had seen things weren't an uncontrolled, fumbling mess of limbs - no this man possessed too much discipline and grace for that. Instead, he led her to the foot of his bed, where he kissed her with such slow and smoldering intensity that it made Bulmas knees weak. His lips gently sucked on her own, teeth nibbling playfully before his tongue requested entrance into her mouth. One strong hand cupping the back of her head while the other molded in the curve at the small of her back -drawing her closer to his solid frame. Just as the curves of her petite form where fully melting into his muscled front the world shifted. Her back hit the bed. Large tan hands catching the backside of her tighs before this demon of the night dragged her over the bed closer to him without any effort. Her spread legs now framing his powerful and trim waist. Dark eyes gleaming at her with predatory calculation as the corner of his mouth curled in the smuggest smirk she had ever seen. Looming above her in a dominating promise of what was to come. Her heart raced in anticipation and her stomach filled with overly excited butterflies.

The drag of fabric against her legs as Vegeta peeled her suddenly too tight jeans from her long limbs set her nerve endings on fire. His gaze was smoldering in intensity and every fiber of her being was caught in a desperate struggle of fight and flight daring her to look away while she was unable to do so all at once. Rough warm palms glided over the skin of her legs like they had been lovers all along. Coming to palm her behind and dragging her ever closer to the edge of the bed. Everything after was a blur of breathless moans and fevered gasps. Large palms spreading her legs by the back of her knees while he dove mouth first for her most private parts. Like no man before him Vegeta managed to keep her right on the edge of mindless bliss, and she was clutching at his hair and wailing shamelessly in need for more.

Bulma was so lost in bliss and the addicting buzz of her body that she couldn't help the startled gasp of surprise pleasure when he suddenly flipped her over by her hip, smacked her ass with more force than anyone had ever dared and commanded her with a rough and low voice to be a good girl and stay put. Her heart was hammering in her ears and stray hairs stuck to her forehead in a sweaty mess as she bowed her head against the cool sheets. She heard the buckle of his belt, the unmistakable sound of his zipper before her mind provided her with the mental imagery of Vegeta pushing his pants down his taut hips. An agonizing heartbeat of silence later the crinkling of aluminum and then his weight sinking down into the mattress and herself. The tip that nudged her moist lips was warm and thick, her bottom lip catching in pearly teeth, as Vegeta growled into her ear with the slow push of his hips into her.

Each and every thrust after was accompanied by more force, till the only sounds Bulma perceived was the slapping of his hips into her, her own muffled sobs of mindless pleasure and Vegetas labored breathing. Her mind usually such an overactive thing was blissfully empty, all synapses focused on nothing but the intense pleasure building and rippling between her legs. The bed groaned in protest under them, her fingers twisting in the expensive sheets, seeking release in heated selfishness. The final straw was Vegeta's sure fingers finding her clit, rubbing small circles till she shuddered into aftershocks bordering the painful. Bones heavy and all stamina spent her focus of awareness slowly expanded again. Reminding her that there was a world outside the heated and sex filled bubble she had created with this dark and handsome stranger. Above and behind her Vegeta growled low in his throat, chasing his own fulfillment with renewed vigor. His hands clutching her tightly as his body jerked, cursing heatedly with the force of his climax while his hips slowed to a lazy rhythm intended to prolong his pleasure.

Soft and heated lips found the side of her neck, giving the delicate skin there a soft nip followed by an even softer kiss, he squeezed her hip one last time, an achingly affectionate feeling, before he pulled out and rolled over next to her. Both of them damp with sweat, still struggling to regain normalcy in their breathing. Peering up through thick lashes Bulma found his face relaxed and peaceful, eyes closed, his head pillowed by one of his arms. Her brain only dimly registered the expansive pattern of colors and lines that spanned over his naked torso and the implications that came with having a masterpiece such as this forever embedded in the layers of one's skin. Without much conscious thought, she pulled herself closer to this demon of the night, who had made her fall apart in ways she'd never even dreamed of, her slightly parted lips touching his rounded and defined shoulder was the last thing she perceived before drifting off into peaceful and exhausted slumber.


End file.
